“I’m . . . ah . . . joining SpecOps-27.”

Spike laughed loudly again.

“A LiteraTec!? Always nice to meet someone as underfunded as I am. Some good faces in that office. Your chief is Victor Analogy. Don’t be fooled by the gray hairs—he’s as sharp as a knife. The others are all A-one Ops. A bit shiny-arsed and a mite too smart for me, but there you go. Where am I taking you?”

“The Finis Hotel.”

“First time in Swindon?”

“Sadly, no,” I replied. “It’s my hometown. I was in the regular force here until ’75. You?”

“Welsh Border guard for ten years. I got into some darkness at Oswestry in ’79 and discovered I had a talent for this kind of shit. I trannied here from Oxford when the two depots merged. You’re looking at the only Staker south of Leeds. I run my own office but it’s mighty lonesome. If you know anyone handy with a mallet?—”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” I replied, wondering why anyone would consciously wish to fight the supreme powers of darkness for a basic SpecOps salary, “but if I come across anyone, I’ll let you know. What happened to Chesney? He ran the department when I was here last.”

A cloud crossed Spike’s usually bright features and he sighed deeply.

“He was a good friend but he fell into shadows. Became a servant of the dark one. I had to hunt him down myself. The spike ’n’ decap was the easy part. The tricky bit was having to tell his wife—she wasn’t exactly overjoyed.”

“I guess I’d be a bit pissed off too.”

“Anyway,” continued Spike, cheering up almost immediately, “you don’t have to tell me shit, but what is a good-looking SpecOps doing joining the Swindon Litera Tecs?”

“I had a spot of bother in London.”

“Ah,” replied Spike knowingly.

“I’m also looking for someone.”

“Who?”

I looked over at him and made an instant judgment call. If I could trust anyone, I could trust Spike.

“Hades.”

“Acheron? Flatline, sister. The man’s toast. Crashed and burned at J-twelve on the four.”

“So we’re led to believe. If you hear anything?—”

“No problem, Thursday.”

“And we can keep this between ourselves?”

He smiled.

“After staking, secrets is what I do best.”

“Hang on—”

I had caught sight of a brightly colored sports car in a second-hand car lot on the other side of the road. Spike slowed down.

“What’s up?”

“I . . . er . . . need a car. Can you drop me over there?”

Spike executed an illegal U-turn, causing the following car to brake violently and slew across the road. The driver started to hurl abuse until he saw that it was a SpecOps black and white, then wisely kept quiet and drove on. I retrieved my bag.

“Thanks for the lift. I’ll see you about.”

“Not if I see you first!” said Spike. “I’ll see what I can dig up on your missing friend.”

“I’d appreciate it. Thanks.”